


Living For More Than Today

by stormy1x2



Category: One Piece
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Medical Procedures, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:43:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormy1x2/pseuds/stormy1x2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace's narcolepsy is reaching a dangerous point. The nursing staff, with the help of Thatch and Marco, are aiming to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living For More Than Today

**Title:** Living For More Than Today

 **Author:** Stormy1x2

 **Words:** 4600

 **Summary:** Ace's narcolepsy is reaching a dangerous point. The nursing staff, with the help of Thatch and Marco, are aiming to fix that.

 

* * *

**o0o**

**Living For More Than Today**

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

 

“This is starting to get worrisome, Ace,” Whiskey said sternly.

 

Ace rolled his eyes and Thatch grinned as he dumped his fellow commander on the bed. “Just another little bump on the head, is all. Good thing it's too thick to take on any real damage.”

 

“Shut up,” Ace growled and kicked out at him. Thatch danced nimbly away.

 

“Ace, I'm serious.” Whiskey was waving a file folder full of papers at the 2nd Division Commander. “You've been having an increase in narcoleptic attacks ever since your promotion, which is indicative of a high stress increase and we need to start actively working on a game plan here. Otherwise I'll have no choice but to recommend to Pops that you be demoted.”

 

Ace froze on the spot. “...The hell?”

 

Thatch paused on his way out the door. “Say what?” He watched as Whiskey Knight sighed and ran a hand through her short, brown hair, automatically giving the strands at the back a quick tug in agitation. She had been the head of the Infirmary for nearly ten years, and Thatch knew she had seen more than anyone else what illnesses and injuries could pop up on the Grand Line, but she was looking more concerned over Ace at the moment than she had over the last time Curiel had been brought in with a bad stab wound from a drunken spar with Vista. “C'mon, Whiskey, you're not serious, are ya?”

 

Whiskey glared at him. “I am very serious.” She turned back to Ace who was staring at her in shock and irritation. “Don't give me that look, Portgas D Ace. I've already confirmed your blood pressure has gone up.”

 

“What blood pressure?” Ace shot back. “I'm made of fire, remember?”

 

“Fire and a human body which is showing signs of fatigue, high blood pressure, and your hormone levels are fluctuating all over the place. We used the cuffs to check you, remember, flame brain?”

 

“So?”

 

Whisley sighed. “Ace, you are still human, even though they call them devil fruits. It's why you can bleed if you get hit by someone using haki. And your body is telling me that it's under stress. My first thought is that you're not getting enough sleep at night, which is one strong possible reason why you're having more attacks. So why aren't you sleeping? The only thing that changed is six weeks ago you were promoted to the head of Second Division. Your work load increased, plus now you're directly responsible for the health, safety and well-being of the men under your care. That can cause stress. If you've got another reason, then let's hear it.” Ace growled. “Knock it off, Ace, and tell me what's going on.”

 

“I've always had trouble sleeping,” Ace snapped. “Ever since--” he cut himself off, and shook his head. “Since I was ten. It was better for a while but then it started again when I was seventeen. It went away, and now it's back.”

 

“That's oddly specific,” Thatch commented. “What changed at those times?”

 

Ace glared at him, and then aimed his eyes at the floor. “Nothing.”

 

“You know how much I hate lies in my infirmary,” Whiskey said warningly.

 

“Tough!” snapped the fire brat.

 

Thatch slid between them before the nurse took that clipboard and attempted to beat out the remaining few brain cells Ace had left inside his head. There couldn't be that many left, after all – Ace needed all he could spare. “Time out!” Nurse and Commander both glared at him and he grinned back. “Okay children, let's try this again. Ace is having trouble sleeping. He is not willing to share _why_ at this juncture. What can we do about this?” He saw Whiskey smirk, and he hastened to further clarify, “Regarding how to help him get to sleep?” The smirk was still there. “Preferably without blunt force trauma?”

 

After a moment, Whiskey sighed, let the anger drain out of her, and looked at Ace. “Ace... believe it or not, I'm trying to help you. You are doing a wonderful job as Second Commander - “Ace blinked at her. “- but you are also one of my brothers, and I will not allow any of my brothers to develop health problems if I can do something about it. That's what I'm here for - what I _want_ to do.”

 

Ace was still scowling – but there was guilt there too. A faint blush highlighted his cheeks. Thatch knew the Logia user wasn't used to people demonstrating to him – in either words or actions – that they actually did care for him. Thatch knew very little about Ace's childhood but it was quite obvious that he hadn't received very much in the way of positive physical affection growing up. He resisted the urge to go over and hug Ace to give the physical to the nurse's verbal though, because while Ace might appreciate it inside, outside, he'd explode into flames which would set off the sprinkler system, and Thatch had already done his hair twice that day.

 

“It still doesn't matter,” Ace spoke up suddenly, looking tired. “The insomnia will go away – it always does. Even if I am getting sleep at night, I will still be passing out at random during the day. That won't change. It never has.”

 

“Maybe we can't stop it one hundred percent,” the nurse allowed,”but I'm willing to bet we can lower the number of attacks you are currently having by at least forty percent. Medication and diet are the first two things I can think of.”

 

Ace's eyes went wide with horror. “I'm not going on a diet!” he yelped. Thatch laughed hard at that, not stopping even when Ace reached out and punched him in the side.

 

“It just means a small change in your diet – in what you eat on a regular basis,” Whiskey clarified. “Small changes. Hannah's the dietician – she'll go over that with you once we finish our tests and go over all of our options.”

 

“Fine,” Ace grumbled. He aimed another kick Thatch's way.

 

“Another way to help combat your attacks is to have scheduled rests,” the nurse continued. “A short nap in the morning, one in the afternoon, and if possible, a very short one in the evening after dinner. The regular rest periods will give you more energy and help reduce the... buildup, shall we say?”

 

Ace's eyes were hidden by the brim of his orange cowboy hat, but he nodded stiffly. Thatch was grinning like a loon. “Ace is gonna have nap-time?” he chortled happily. “I'll make sure to have milk and cookies on hand when you wake up--”

 

“Commander Thatch.” Whiskey glared at the chef, anger instantly back. Her tone was cold and hard enough to make his mouth snap closed. “You are NOT helping.” She gestured to Ace, who was – _shit_. Thatch felt his heart sink into his stomach as he saw Ace's body shaking, hands fisted so tightly his knuckles were white. “In fact, you've done your part in bringing him to me. You can leave now.”

 

Thatch opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. Sorry Ace.” _Shit._ He'd gone one step too far – _again_. Izou kept telling him to pay more attention to how far he took a joke, especially around Ace.

 

Ace didn't look up but waved a hand at him as he left. Thatch took three steps away from the door and immediately stopped, flattening himself against the wall and opening his senses, availing the use of his observation haki to hear what was going on. Was Ace's condition really that serious? He had been trying to get the mood in there to lighten up – he hadn't ever really considered Ace's sleeping issues to be anything more than hilarious and a chance to brush up his artistic skills by doodling cakes and legs of lamb on Ace's face.

 

He heard Whiskey sigh again, and knew she was sitting on her stool, prepared to go back into battle once again with the fire-user. Thatch breathed quietly, in and out, and strained his ears. Spying was something that was not generally looked upon with any favour among the Whitebeards but it involved his newest and youngest brother, which meant all bets were off.

 

* * *

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

“Now that he's gone, maybe you'll start being honest with me. The narcolepsy itself isn't the worrisome part,” Whiskey said, pulling Ace's file. “It's the cataplexy that sometimes accompanies it. I've seen it several times now. That inability to move could get you severely hurt if you have an attack during a battle.”

 

“Or when you're say, twenty feet up in a tree?”

 

Whiskey blinked. “Seriously?”

 

Ace tapped his forehead where a small mark could barely be seen. “That would be concussion number four when I was twelve.”

 

“Ouch.” Whiskey jotted something down on her notepad. “Ever have hallucinations during an attack?”

 

“Not as much as the cataplexy. And even that isn't too common, thankfully. When it happens, it's usually just for a few minutes after I wake up. In stressful situations, sometimes I've had to fake still being out cold until I could feel my body come back under my own control.”

 

“When have you had hallucinations?”

 

Ace swallowed hard. “After really bad situations. A lot more as a kid. About a dozen times or so when I was fifteen and sixteen. And a couple of times after I woke up here, until I talked to pops and he settled something for me. Not many since then, thankfully. Some waking nightmares, but not full blown hallucinations.”

 

“You mean not full sensory.”

 

Ace nodded.

 

“So almost no full hallucinations for over two years?” Whiskey scribbled something else down. “That's good to hear.”

 

“Yeah... I hate those. I'd rather be paralysed than...” Ace stopped himself and shuddered.

 

“I'll bet.” Whiskey set the clipboard aside. “Ace, this is serious. I need you to know that. I need you to work with whatever plan we put into place, because that is the only way we will be able to help you keep your control as best we can. The more control we can give you, the safer you'll be, especially in battle.” She rapped her pen lightly against his knuckles that were still bone-white from his hand clutching the sheet beneath him. “Tell me you understand what I'm saying.”

 

Ace took a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sigh. “I understand, Whiskey. I don't like it, but I do understand.” He raised his head and gave her a weak smile. “So let's go over these ideas of yours again.”

 

Outside the infirmary, Thatch digested what he'd heard and swallowed hard as he moved away from the door. Suddenly, Ace's attacks didn't seem so funny anymore.

 

 

 

* * *

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

“Ace?”

 

The teenager turned his head, but kept his body facing the sea, lounging against the railing like there was no other place he'd rather be. “Hey, Thatch.”

 

Thatch walked over and settled his back against the railing. “All done with the docs?”

 

“Mm. Whiskey's mixing up some pills for me, and Hannah's writing out my new _schedule_ -“he said that word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “- that I have to follow from now on.” He shook his head. “Man, this is such a pain in the ass.”

 

Thatch stopped a few feet away from the fire user and cleared his throat. “Umm.... Ace... I...” Thatch sighed and scrubbed the back of his head with one hand. “Look, I'm sorry about the milk and cookies crack and all the others, really. I didn't think it was... y'know--”

 

“Serious?” Ace was still leaning on the rail, staring down at the water. “S'okay.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that,” the chef muttered.

 

Ace shrugged. “Everyone thinks it's funny,” he said mildly. “I'm used to it.”

 

Thatch suddenly felt extremely guilty. The nonchalant, resigned tone Ace's voice had spoke of years of not being taken seriously. Turning around to face the sea, Thatch leaned his forearms on the railing, thinking about it. _Really_ thinking about it.

 

What would it be like to have suddenly zero control over your own body? To feel a sleep attack coming and know there was nothing you could do to stop it, regardless of where you were or what you were doing at the time. To wake up to hear people laughing at you for falling down in public, face-planting into your food, or passing out mid-word in a conversation? To never know what was going to happen to you while you were out – would people ignore you, thinking you were drunk? People you call friends passing a marker around and sniggering at the doodles on your face – taking advantage of your comatose body to do things to it you never would agree to when you were awake?

 

He'd always just thought Ace fell asleep. He'd had no idea about the other things Whiskey and Ace had discussed. Cataplexy – Ace sometimes woke up completely paralysed? Just the thought was terrifying enough for him. And hallucinations... Thatch knew enough about his friend to know he had some serious demons in his past. Nightmares were bad enough, but combine hallucinations with cataplexy and.... Thatch shook his head. He didn't even want to contemplate that combination.

 

And to top it off with waking up to laughter from your _friends_....

 

Actually, the more he thought about it, the more nauseated Thatch was feeling. Control was something that he as both a chef and a swordsman valued greatly and the idea of his own body turning on him like that was actually quite terrifying. Thatch swallowed hard. He owed Ace a huge apology.

 

He turned to the young man, opening his mouth – only to see Ace's hand up in front of him. “Don't,” Ace said mildly. “It's all in the past.”

 

Thatch thought for a moment that he should protest when he saw the approving look in Ace's eye. Approving? Of what— _oh_.

 

For a few minutes, Thatch had done what almost no one else had done. He'd actually stopped and thought about being in the same situation. He'd contemplated what it was like and realized Ace's medical condition was actually not that funny at all. Ace knew that Thatch would never forget that and would never treat it lightly again. His old behaviour was indeed now in the past.

 

Thatch wanted to tell Ace that, but Ace wouldn't listen. Ace already knew. Thatch swallowed hard, and then nudged the fire brat with his shoulder. When Ace turned his head questioningly, Thatch smiled. “I feel like chocolate mousse for a snack. What do you think?”

 

Ace grinned.

 

 

* * *

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

When Ace was summoned back to the lair of the medically-inclined she-beasts (and Thatch swore to keep that name just between the two of them on pain of death – the nurses – and on pain of humiliation – from Ace), Thatch tagged along, determined to learn all of what he could. He had promised his brother not to take this lightly again. He would make sure Ace knew he meant it from his actions.

 

As they entered the infirmary, Vista was sitting in the corner with two whimpering subordinates on stretchers next to him. Whiskey smiled and tossed the pill container at Ace who snatched it out of the air. “I was waiting for you. Hannah will be in to discuss the meds since we know how much you hate them. Right now, we'll use them as needed, okay?”

 

Ace nodded, still frowning at the bottle he was turning over in his hands. Whiskey rolled her eyes and went to see just what Vista had done to his division this time.

 

Thatch and Ace grinned – sometimes Vista got carried away when he was training his division. The first shriek of pain had just gone up and Whiskey was slamming the curtains shut when Hannah marched in holding a file folder of papers and headed straight for the two of them. “Did Whiskey give you--”

 

Ace held up the bottle of small, purple pills.

 

“Ah, good. Okay, Ace. These are the pills you are going to take each morning, just one at breakfast time. After breakfast, actually – it's better to have something in your tummy so they don't sit so heavily while they're dispersing. Just avoid having a lot of citrus before taking them – oranges and grapefruits and stuff like that.”

 

Ace looked at Thatch and mouthed, 'tummy'? Thatch snickered.

 

Hannah reached over and whapped him on the knee. “Attention please, Ace.”

 

The fire user straightened his back. “Sorry, Hannah.”

 

She nodded briskly and opened the folder. “So one pill after breakfast, each morning. You have a three-month supply in that bottle. Whiskey told you about some daily life changes you were going to have to make as well, right?” Ace nodded slowly. “This means scheduled naps to let your body rest without it needing to collapse first. The last thing we want is you giving yourself a concussion on the ship railing the next time your body decides to go lights out.”

 

“By the time I turned sixteen, I'd been diagnosed with my ninth concussion,” Ace drawled. “Forgive me if hearing I bumped my head on the railing when I wake up with few to no symptoms or pains doesn't exactly fill me with fear.”

 

“Just because you've done that so often your thick skull no longer registers pain does not mean it's okay to keep doing it!” Hannah glared at him, and then handed over another pill container. These were about the same size as his purple ones, but they were white. “These, you will take at night. One for now. We might need to increase to two in the future but Whiskey wants to start small with the medications and big with the lifestyle changes. We also want to see if you react to any of the side effects of the medications before we up your dosage.”

 

“What are these for?”

 

“To help you sleep when you can't,” Hannah said firmly. “I know you like to walk around at night because you can't sleep. It wasn't a problem for us at the time, but then, we didn't know about your narcolepsy. When we did know about it, you didn't have that many incidents. But since becoming division commander...”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ace took the pill bottle with a grumpy expression. “Side effects?”

 

“Mainly extreme lethargy – I mean, you find it hard to wake up after taking them. Headaches, dry mouth, nausea, in very rare cases they could include rashes.”

 

Ace frowned unhappily. “Sounds like fun.”

 

The nurse moved on. “So, nap times Ace. Once between breakfast and lunch, no more than thirty to forty minutes at maximum, and once between lunch and dinner, same thing. If you feel sleepy after dinner, you can take a short nap, preferably no longer than twenty to twenty-five minutes. You don't want to sleep so long that you can't sleep at night as a result.” Hannah flipped through more papers. “I know you like to workout in the morning, but I want you to try splitting it half – save half of your workout for the evening so that you can tire yourself out naturally.”

 

Thatch frowned and turned to Hannah. “Can I have a copy of those instructions?” he asked, ignoring Ace's glowering face. “And are there any dietary changes that could help? Nutrients that would help ward off sleep during the day or help to ensure it at night?”

 

Hannah smiled at him and handed him a second folder. “Actually, this folder is yours, Commander Thatch. A few small changes will help, nothing big though. No caffeine or sugar after eighteen hundred hours will do for a start. A warm glass of milk with a small amount of honey and cinnamon before bed will help him relax by introducing tryptophan into his system, which is a more natural sleep-inducer than sleeping pills, and less addictive too. A snack of nuts like sunflower seeds and almonds, or things like soybeans and oatmeal instead of cookies or breads will add to that. Actually, you could blend some chia seeds in the warm milk as well – they're high in tryptophan as well.” She handed him a separate sheet of paper. “Some suggestions Whiskey and I came up with here for late night snacks or dinner additions so we can start getting his system regulated.”

 

“I have a few ideas to make a decent 'good night' shake,” Thatch mused, scanning the list of post-six o'clock approved ingredients.

 

“Does anyone remember I'm still in the room?” Ace groused, kicking his feet against the examining table he was still sitting on. He resembled a petulant child and Thatch wasted no time in telling him so.

 

Hannah shot Thatch a mildly reproving look and patted Ace's leg. “We know, dear. We're just busy trying to keep you from keeling _over_ the railing one day instead of just against it.” She glanced back at Thatch. “Will you tell Marco to come see me when he has a few moments to spare? If we want to seriously get Ace's narcolepsy under some form of control that doesn't depend on hideously expensive and addictive medications, we need to keep him on a strict schedule, which means no night shifts for the next couple of months.”

 

“Addictive?” Ace glared at the second bottle in his hand and gave it a threatening shake.

 

Hannah smiled. “Ace, trust us. That medication is a very mild sedative to use at night when you can't sleep. The alternatives I could suggest are almost as strong. We don't want to see our little brother trapped to a medication he doesn't want or need for the rest of his life. There are other pills and supplements we can use – as needed – to help you stay awake during the day but ultimately we'd rather not depend on them. That's why it's important for you to listen to us and follow these instructions.”

 

“So I'm thinking every commander plus Pops should be given a copy of these instructions,” Thatch commented. He didn't like the word 'addicted'.

 

Ace looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon, but Hannah was nodding. “It would be helpful, so they know not to interfere with his nap schedule, and don't give him anything to eat or drink that's not on that list after six-o'clock at night.”

 

“I feel like a two-year old,” Ace grumbled.

 

“Keep in mind, Commander Ace, that this could be just temporary.” Hannah pointed her finger at him, making Ace cross his eyes. “The stricter we are now, the better you'll get, and maybe we can relax a few things when your system has calmed down. But you've been having upwards of ten attacks a day for over a week, even if they don't last very long, and that's dangerous for someone living on a ship!”

 

Ace nodded but didn't say anything. Thatch waved his folder. “I'll tell Marco to come down now,” he said. “It's almost dinner time as it is, and I want to see what I've got in my stores for Ace. No time like the present!”

 

Hannah beamed with approval. Ace just hissed at him.

 

* * *

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

“This won't make too much of a change,” Marco said, reading through the papers on Hannah's clipboard. He'd been all too willing to make the trip to the infirmary after hearing why from Thatch. He'd been worried about Ace as well – one attack was amusing, but watching your Second Commander pass out several times a day – and twice into the metal capstan that housed their anchor – was pushing past funny and going straight into worrisome. “You were scheduled for a night watch shift with Atmos on Thursday but I'll swap you with Jozu – he has day watches.” Marco lowered the folder to scan his newest Commander, who was sitting on the medical bed, back against the wall and knees drawn up. He had an unhappy look on his face. “As for the cataplexy, maybe you can blink twice to tell us you can't move so no one panics - Ace?”

 

“Fine,” Ace muttered, staring at his boot tips. “Everyone just go ahead and plan my life for me, it's all fine.”

 

Marco raised an eyebrow and set the folder down before hopping up on the bed beside his friend. “What do you think we're doing here?”

 

Ace shrugged.

 

“We're trying to keep you healthy, Ace.” Marco reached out and tousled Ace's dark hair. The teenager snorted and pushed his hand away, but Marco saw the small smile before it vanished. “None of us wants to lose you. If you passed out while in the rigging, or during a battle, you could end up dead, and that's something no one here wants to risk.” Ace muttered something. “What?”

 

“I said that's how I've always lived my life,” Ace said with a scowl. “I've had no regrets. If I die because my narcolepsy kicks in at the wrong time, well, then that's how I'll die. I don't need to live forever. It's enough for me to just live for today. I can't ask for more than that.”

 

Marco felt something go cold inside him – fear of this man, no, this precious eighteen-year old _child_ , dying before he ever really got a chance to live. He and Thatch had discussed it many times. They knew there was something dark inside Ace, something that haunted him, that kept him from opening up so easily to others. But to hear him say he didn't care if he died tomorrow because all he could hope for was today... that wasn't how someone should live. Especially not someone as vibrant as Ace. He was the youngest of them all on the Moby Dick but he shone the brightest. Marco didn't want to see that light snuffed out.

 

“Well, I like to plan ahead a little farther than from day to day,” Marco said firmly, ignoring Ace's other words. “And if this is what it takes to make sure we get to keep you with us as long as possible, than that's what we're going to do, yoi. You understand?”

 

Ace's cheeks flushed a light red, but after a moment, he nodded.

 

Marco smiled.

 

* * *

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

And so Ace's schedule was put into place, and every Commander was made aware of it. Ace had to live with everyone knowing his nap schedule and being told by a hundred people that he was late for it if they saw him on the decks between ten-twenty and eleven o'clock in the morning, or between three o'clock and three-forty in the afternoon. Any glances at the coffee pot at dinner were rewarded with pitchers of Thatch's special 'relaxing drink' – a concoction made of warm milk, honey, chia seeds, cinnamon and banana's that tasted amazing, made him sleepy, and became the drink of choice by most members of the Moby before bed to the point where Pops was seriously considering the adoption and installation of their very own cow somewhere on board.

 

Thatch had stolen Ace's purple pills and made a point of serving it to the fire brat with his breakfast, saying Ace couldn't be trusted to remember on his own after the first week where Ace had actually forgotten the pills. Upon hearing that, Marco took it upon himself to supervise the taking of the night time pills.

 

The most embarrassing part was after waking up after an attack – it would either be Marco or Thatch (or Izou if the other two were on missions) who would be right there, asking him to signal if he couldn't move (two blinks meant 'nope, I'm staying right here for a while'), and guarding him from both enemies and well-intentioned but clumsy siblings until he was able to move under his own power.

 

It was tedious and it was embarrassing and yet Ace wouldn't change it for the world. Despite the pills, and the naps and the drinks and the restrictions, he couldn't forget that everyone was doing it for him. To keep him around, to keep him safe. And while Ace may bitch and complain about everyone knowing his business, when he was in his room, alone and away from everyone else, he couldn't help but smile, a real, childish and happy smile.

 

He was really home.

 

* * *

**o0o**

**End**

**o0o**

* * *

 

 

And then Marineford happens two years later and the fandom's collective hearts are all broken. And trampled on. And run through a blender. Damn you Oda! * _ **shakes fist in a not-very-threatening-manner**_ *

 

I did a lot of research on narcolepsy for this fic so it would reasonably accurate. I hope you enjoyed!

 

 


End file.
